


The Sandburg Zone

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, Plot What Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:04:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bedroom scene that follows "Stating the Obvious." No more, no less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sandburg Zone

## The Sandburg Zone

#### by Princess of Geekland

  
Not mine. Don't sue.   
Everything I know about "The Sentinel" is because of Lemon Drop. So thank you, forever.   
  
This story is a sequel to: "Stating the Obvious"

* * *

Jim and Blair climb the stairs. Blair is a couple of steps ahead, and Jim's hand is on the small of his back, but there's no urging needed. Blair flops onto Jim's bed on his back, propped on his elbows, and Jim delays long enough to tear his dress shirt and his undershirt off over his head, and then Jim slides up between his legs. If Jim keeps grinning like that his face is gonna start hurting. 

Jim flattens his hands against Blair's ribs and asks, "So you're signing up for the full guide tour of duty, huh? That's your decision." 

Blair nods. He probably would have explained, with the glossy photos and the circles and the arrows and the text printed on the back, but Jim finds he can't wait for words and he leans up and kisses Blair. His memories of that one night, that one night after their return from Sierra Verde, before Blair plunged into all his shamanism homework, have been wearing a little thin. Blair's crotch is pressed against the side of Jim's thigh, and his mouth is eager and open. Jim is relieved to discover that Blair is just as good at wordless communication as he is at his normal methods. Jim concludes Blair is saying the equivalent of "Oh hell yes." 

When Jim can again take note of his surroundings, his lips feel as stung as Blair's look. He and Blair are twined side by side on the bed, their feet hanging off, and Blair's thigh is between his. Jim slides a palm into the neck of Blair's shirts and meets Blair's eyes. Jim raises his eyebrows. When Blair nods, he starts unbuttoning. Jim's heart is pounding. This is _important._ When Jim glances up to check on Blair, he looks as happy as Jim and at least as nervous. Jim's fingers go on climbing down buttons. 

Blair takes a lot of air and says softly, "If you want to, you know, have me, you'll have to show me. I've played around a little with that, uh, area, so I'm pretty sure I'd like that with you but to be honest I really don't know for sure." 

Okay. Now Blair is calmly talking about _Jim fucking him._ Blair has jumped right to that. Blair certainly has taken very seriously his review of the berdache material. Jim wants to laugh, wants to make a joke about the ethnological correctness of it all, wants to needle Blair about his scientific thoroughness, but the words won't come out. They get caught on the huge lump of tenderness that's stuck in Jim's throat. So he just nods, and keeps his eyes intently on the progress of his careful fingers. His face is getting hot. He clears his throat. He does want to say something; something encouraging, something reassuring. He tries for the same calm tone. "I know you'd like it. Because I used to like it a lot." Blair squeezes Jim's shoulders, gives him a little shake. Jim glances up and Blair is licking his lips and smiling. 

"So I've already totally stereotyped you as a top, huh? Son of a bitch." 

Bubbling laughter fills Jim's chest, just the joy he guesses he's going to have to learn to live with now -- joy untouched by irony for the moment, but all he shows is a pleased grin as he shoves at Blair's thigh with his leg and pushes hard, rolling onto Blair. Blair just -- goes. Just goes right over and grins back, his hair falling in a shining cloud around his skull, his warm wide hands on Jim's traps. Blair is hard. Christ, Blair's hard dick is asserting itself against Jim's thigh and it's _warm_ and without much effort at all Jim can feel the pulse beating there. He sucks in a breath and tries to settle down. They've got all night, after all. 

Jim leans down and nips at Blair's collarbone, and then at the soft spot just above it. He presses his tongue there, tasting salt. Blair gasps. Jim feels gratified. Jim says, "And you call yourself a liberal and a scientist. What would your committee say. You are so sloppy! It's embarrassing." Jim pretends to sigh. "Okay, okay, fine, I'll conform to your snap judgments, again, Hairboy. Top it is." And Jim, still trying not to do something that could only be described as giggling, shoves his pelvis against Blair's, and Blair groans and shoves back. Yeah, definitely a groan. A good groan. An oh, yeah, don't stop kind of groan. Jim pushes his face into Blair's warm neck and puts a little of his weight on his elbows and snuggles Blair flat against the mattress, shoulders, chest, hips, thighs. Blair tries to inhale and is having some trouble, so Jim eases more of his weight on to his arms. 

"Oh yeah," Jim murmurs, not acting now, not at all, because Blair is putting his palms against Jim's skin, sliding tentative hands down his back. His trousers are well tailored and there's not much slack for Blair to use, not much access for Blair to get fingertips under his waistband, but all in good time. Blair clearly wants to go there, and that. Means. Everything. Jim braces on one knee and one elbow and wrestles Blair out of his now-unbuttoned shirts, still pretty much pinning Blair to the bed with his body. 

"Oh man, oh," Blair says, and he's cooperating, but his giggle is nervous and his glance slides away from Jim's. Jim eases back a little, pushes up higher and pets Blair's forehead. 

"We're going too fast. We'll do what you want, you know. Slow." 

Blair takes hold of his waist and looks earnestly into his eyes. Jim holds the gaze, but he is so aware of the furry sweep of Blair's chest, his wide pecs, his flat stomach, and how his waist narrows into his jeans. Blair's body is usually swathed in layers, as if he's always cold, but Jim has seen his skin before; he knows how good it is, how firm and silky and warm, and he tries to keep restraining himself and listen to what Blair`s saying. But his peripheral vision is great, and there's a lot of skin between Blair's navel and his lowslung Levis, and his stomach is rising and falling along the line of his ribcage, and his jeans are old and soft and they button and Jim can feel the change in the quality of heat coming from Blair's groin -- he's definitely still hot, even if Jim has rushed him a little. So listen. Try to listen. Jim frowns and concentrates on what Blair is saying and not on the colossal verdant overdose that is Blair`s body. 

"No, no, it's not too fast, any more than any of it is too fast, it's just, so different? You know?" Blair runs his hands slowly up Jim's sides, sweeps them across his chest, explores his deltoids, his currently hardworking biceps, his elbows. Blair's palms finally come to rest cupping Jim's nipples and Jim has to drop his head at the bright splash of pleasure. When he can, he looks up at Blair and Blair smiles and looks a little awestruck. Jim blows out air. He's getting lightheaded with all this touching. 

"You want me that much," Blair says. Jim nods. Blair watches him, touches him some more, smooths his hands out and across Jim`s arms. Jim just stays there, feeling, listening. He wants to close his eyes but he doesn't. Blair smells so good. "It's different, and it's the same, and it's not, but it's you, it's just you, I know you so well. It's so weird. I just feel it and then I get all this confusion, you know, about it being a guy and about it being you, and then I go back to feeling how good it feels if I don't think so much." 

Jim effortlessly transfers all his weight to his right arm and gently places his left palm against Blair's cheek. "Has anyone ever told you that -- you think too much?" he deadpans, and Blair grins and nods. He's still petting. His hands are healing, like a hot shower, like sunshine. Jim blinks. He whispers, "It's just us." 

Blair nods again. His hands slide up to tighten on Jim's shoulders, and he gets this look of quiet determination and he pushes. Jim lets him roll them sideways. Blair slides clear over him -- transient grabbing ecstasy of Jim's groin -- and Blair leans on one elbow, one leg thrown across Jim's thighs. Jim can still feel Blair`s persistent erection; so that`s good. Blair keeps petting him, tracing his collar bones, tracing the definition of his abs, roaming fingers along the column of his neck. 

"You are so ripped; like some kind of anatomy lesson." Jim smiles, watching Blair`s intent expression. Whatever. _Just so you like it; just so you want some of it. I hope._ After a while of letting Blair explore, he slowly raises his fingertips to Blair's lips. Blair kisses them, and then he closes his eyes. He mouths Jim's fingers and sucks two of them in, biting gently. Jim tries to stifle a moan. Blair's right hand is flat against his solar plexus, and it's warm. The hair in his other armpit is tickling Jim's shoulder. Blair is sucking his fingers, sucking and biting them and it's making Jim harder. Jim closes his eyes. He slowly runs the knuckles of his free hand down the soft trail of hair on Blair's stomach and then turns his hand to palm Blair's dick through his jeans. Blair inhales and presses back, still biting Jim's fingers. 

Jim murmurs, "Will you, will you let me touch you." Blair's mouth releases Jim's fingers. He shifts to lie flat. Blair is getting kinda close to the edge of the bed, but Jim can keep track of that. Jim follows, rolling against him and he opens Blair's fly. Moving slowly, slowly, he eases Blair's jeans and underwear down a little and he puts his mouth against the warm knot of hair just above the root of Blair's cock. He cups the warm length with one hand. 

"Oh shit," Blair says reverently, and Jim doesn't have to check his face. He feels Blair relaxing into it, just going with it. 

Jim inhales the rich scent of Blair and says, "Always a crowd-pleaser," and with no more warning than that he slides his mouth down over the crown of Blair's cock and sucks it. He keeps going, taking all of it in that he can, and feels Blair unravel under his hands. 

Jim keeps his eyes open; if he closed them he is sure he would zone on the taste, on the smell. He carefully softens his focus; doesn't zoom in, doesn't lose his place, and he thinks, _Put on some music next time..._ one more thing to distract himself, to keep his awareness _out here._ Someday he'll do this and let himself zone; someday he could fucking disappear into Blair, letting the heady invasion of nose and mouth and hands completely overthrow his mind. 

He loves this. It's an effort to keep his eyes open, but he does. He tongues Blair's shaft, moves his mouth, slowly speeds up as he sucks. He finds a rhythm, like steady fucking. Blair's totally into it now, moaning and limp. Jim has a moment of feeling the pride of conquest as Blair starts to rock his hips, frankly groaning. Soon Blair is panting and making the most gorgeous, sexy broken noises. 

"Jim, Jim, Jim," Fuck, the sound of pleading... Jim hitches his hips a little sideways. His slacks are gonna be stained, but he can cope. He changes his angle, shifts his weight, and speeds up his mouth on Blair's dick and Blair comes, crying out, shaking, swearing. The hot taste explodes and it's all Jim can do not to zone on that, it's so big, so intense and rich, so he pulls back, his mouth still full, making himself spread out his fingers against Blair's sizzling skin, making himself look around the bed, to taking in hearing and sight. He feels full of Blair, lost in Blair, like he's had Blair completely now. Like he's got Blair's essence, his soul, in a safe place, for keeps. He licks his lips, savoring the ebb of the unnerving blast of taste, and studies his lover. Blair's got his hands in his hair, a knee bent up. Jim didn't get his jeans entirely off -- they are just pushed down around his thighs. He looks debauched and gorgeous against the expensive sheets he insisted Jim buy long ago. He looks like a Calvin Klein ad gone porno. Blair shakes his head as if to clear it, and he yanks Jim down against him and pushes his hand against Jim's dick. 

"I take back what I said about thinking it's weird, all right? It's frigging perfect. It's heaven. It`s... ah. You. Oh shit." 

Jim smushes his face into Blair's neck. He doesn't have any words. He struggles there for a minute, feeling love and amazement and abject horniness. 

"Good," he manages to say. Blair scoots down and traps his face, makes Jim look at him. 

"Oh, no, you don't. You can do better than that. Come on." Blair is grinning at him, and Jim pets his neck, pets on down across his chest, and meets his eyes. 

"You`re not really gonna try to make me talk now," he says. 

"Well, okay," Blair says. He curls down to get Jim's slacks unzipped and peeled off, and the rest of his own clothes get summarily disposed of, too. They're side by side again, and then Blair is intently watching Jim's face as he swipes his tongue across his palm, and Jim jerks and settles as Blair's hand goes to work on him. 

"Oh shit," Jim says, closing his eyes, and there's no way to not zone with this, no way, and Blair could be talking to him or not, who knows, but he's going over the edge, fast, the universe is nothing but this, the squeezing friction of his guide's hand, his lover's hand, on his dick for the first time. Not a fantasy, not a wish, but real. The sensations shove Jim over the edge of oblivion immediately, not coming, not yet, but just... gone. It's pleasure so intense that it's like blacking out. Jim is aware, as at a great distance, of himself shouting. Then he does black out. Dark, dark like velvet, dark warmth that smells like Blair. 

Other senses besides touch, and then other parts of his skin besides his dick, start to gently reassert their presence. Blair's insistent voice, the low light of the lamp, seem like crashing intrusions as the blue-black, bruising wave of ecstasy recedes. Jim realizes he's still panting, his belly wet with come. His heart is racing, just off its peak. His hands blindly follow the sweet reassuring scent and warmth of Blair to their source. Jim hangs on tight and waits his senses out. The universe slowly gets right side up and resumes its normal proportions. 

"I'm okay," Jim says. He's interrupting, because he realizes that Blair is still trying to coach him all the way back and that Blair's voice may be getting a little nervous. 

"What? Of course you zoned. I wasn't going to bring it up ahead of time and ruin the fucking moment, but my god --" 

"It's okay. It's fine." Jim stirs, cups Blair's face. He feels him relax. It's over now; Jim's back. They both know the drill. He continues, "It's just that it's so intense with you, you know?" 

"Aw, man, you're flattering me." 

"No, I mean it. It's got nothing to do with flattering. With you it's just.. it's like nothing I've ever had before." 

Jim puts his face in Blair's neck again and pulls him close. It's impossible to put into words. Maybe Blair will take a stab at it, but it`s inexpressible: The utter perfection of having Blair so close, skin to skin. The culmination of all the times Jim`s hands, of their own accord, smacked Blair`s cheeks or clutched his shoulder through his jacket, all the times Jim`s cuffed him or grabbed him or shoved him or put him in a headlock. Touch. Skin. Yeah, heaven. Timeless bliss. Too much. Impossible. Then his eyes open because he thinks, _Jesus Christ; what will it be like to get inside him?? Jesus!_

Blair, of course, is reading his mind again. "Okay, like, if that's what a simple hand job does to you, we're going to have to figure out a whole new way of coping with the zone-out factor; I can see that coming." 

"You said coming." Blair snorts. Jim's voice is slow, like a purr. "Let's worry about that later, Chief. Let's just, worry about that later." 

Blair is leaning over him, smiling, petting him again, blue eyes shining, his lush, generous smile, so close, so dear, and nothing else matters. At all. 

end 

* * *

End The Sandburg Zone by Princess of Geekland: princessofg@livejournal.com  
Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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